Page 5 (1/1)

"Dresser?" I e to croak despite the dryness in my throat

"Everyone has a secret bedroom drawer," he says His voice lowers, takes on a husky quality "A place almost as personal as their soul"

I stiffen, a new rush of discoh me He’s been in here I kneith every piece of s He kneas in that drawer I don’t like this man, and I’m suddenly immensely aware of the fact that I ahway, not another customer anywhere near--at least not that I’ve seen or heard thus far

"I don’t want to know her secrets," I say fir s to her"

He studies aze as sharp as the slice of disco deeper inside me Then finally, when I am about to choke on the silence, he says, "Like I said Check the drawer" His lips hint at a sardonic smile, and he pushes off the doorja at nine You won’t want to be inside when I do" Without another word, he is gone

I don’t move I can’t move I want to slam the door shut but don’t dare, not when it locks froht that terrifies me Seconds tick by and I wait as the man’s footsteps fade away into the distance Away Yes Away I have to get away froainst the wall and yank open the top right drawer Empty I try the left God,to choke me I have to stop and forceand irrationally frightened I count to thirty and I can breathe again I’ is okay I open the left drawer and the breath I’d finally found again hitches at the contents A black, twelve-by-eight, velvet box with a lock A red silk scarf Three red leather-bound journals

My teeth worry my bottom lip I dart a look toward the hallway and then back to the drawer I aued despite my nerves, but afraid the creepy man will return

I quickly refocus on the drawer, and search for a key to the box, telling ht be contact infor to carnal curiosity I flip open each of the journals, shake them for loose papers, for a key A brochure falls fro several more brochures in the process

I pick one of them up and read "Allure Art Gallery," San Francisco They are all Allure brochures Allure is the largest,San Francisco’sart she’d found in the unit It appears that despite our vastly different love lives, Rebecca and I share a co about art, from the history to the creative process There was a tiht arm to work in the art world It’s what I went to school for, what I’d dreao when life, bills, and responsibilities took precedence

A loud crash sounds somewhere outside, and I nearly ju h it Thunder The sound had been thunder It is about to stor as if I a ination is running wild, but I won’t ignore this feeling of unease

I grab my purse, stack the journals inbecause they area clue to Rebecca’s recent whereabouts I am about to exit the roo to the dresser to retrieve the box My hands are still shaking as Iand attach the lock to the storage unit

Quickly, I head down a narrow, dimly lit hallway, past rows of locked units like the one I’ve just left I feel like I am Alice in Wonderland about to be sucked down the rabbit hole I exit the garage-stylelot otten away from me so quickly?

I fall into a half run, half walk, in stealthy silence thanks tothe distance between myself and my silver Ford Focus My keys are still in my purse, and I don’t knohy I haven’t pulled the on top of the hood with the intent of digging in e to drop one of the journals I reach for it and drop another

"Dang it," Itheain, and despite the cold droplets of water saze shifts to a shadow near the open garage door, and I search to find no one there I jerkGet in the car Get in the car Why are you outside the car?

Hands shaking now, I dig out my keys, and curse the out-of-character paranoia I can’t escape I yank open the car door and throw et in, the journals and the box aardly on h A heavy breath escapes me at the sound of the clicks that seal me inside and I haphazardly stack the journals and box in the passenger seat

I’ine when a trickle of awareness draws asp Standing in the shadows, beneath a sliainst the wall, is thele" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">